


Infiltration

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets, part ii. [35]
Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Established Relationship, F/F, Slow Dancing, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 05:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Despite her protests that wearing heels on a mission was just a batshit stupid idea (andyes, she was aware that Vicky did it all the time, but she did notcarewhat Vicky did, thank you very much), she hadn’t been able to get out of it. The simple truth was that the Annual Rickards Charity Ball and Auction, in addition to being the favored social event of an international warmonger that they were damn well going to catch, had been set up by a bunch of misogynists, and women weren’t even allowed through thedoorif they weren’t wearing heels.(She’d asked Michael if there was any way she could pay a friendly visit to the current organizers of the ball, after they finished their mission, just so she could give them a lecture on how it was 2018 and they needed to get their collective asses out of the 1950’s. He’d given her one of his patented Looks, but hehadn’tactually said no.Which means that she’s absolutely going to do it.)





	Infiltration

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aweekofsaturdays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aweekofsaturdays/gifts).



> this was written for the prompt "Why haven’t you kissed me yet + Eleanor/tahani + either canon or spy au!!" I ended up going with spy au, because heck yeah. I didn't actually use the dialogue prompt in the fic, but it's pretty clear where I was inspired by it!

The thing is, it’s not like Eleanor’s never worn heels before. There’s been at least half a dozen occasions throughout her life (prom, two funerals, at least one birthday, and some other events that she can’t remember the fine details of) where she slipped on some wedges or stilettos. She knows how to walk in them without rolling her ankle, knows how to shift her balance when she steps so she doesn’t wobble or land on her ass.

But still, _knowing_ how to wear heels and _enjoying_ heels are far from the same thing. They’re not even in the same _universe_ , so far as she's concerned.

But, despite her protests that wearing heels on a mission was just a batshit stupid idea (and _yes_ , she was aware that Vicky did it all the time, but she did not _care_ what Vicky did, thank you very much), she hadn’t been able to get out of it. The simple truth was that the Annual Rickards Charity Ball and Auction, in addition to being the favored social event of an international warmonger that they were damn well going to catch, had been set up by a bunch of misogynists, and women weren’t even allowed through the _door_ if they weren’t wearing heels.

(She’d asked Michael if there was any way she could pay a friendly visit to the current organizers of the ball, after they finished their mission, just so she could give them a lecture on how it was 2018 and they needed to get their collective asses out of the 1950’s. He’d given her one of his patented Looks, but he _hadn’t_ actually said no.

Which means that she’s absolutely going to do it.)

So she’d gone with a pair of simple black pumps with a three inch heel a little wider than a stiletto. However, while they’re easy enough to walk in, her feet already ache, and there’s no sign of their target yet. Based on their prior surveillance, he seems to be in the habit of arriving fashionably late to every function he attends, so it could be _hours_ before he actually makes an appearance.

(If he makes them wait that long, Eleanor thinks she might just take her shoes off and throw them at his face once they have him in custody.)

If there’s one good thing to be said about the heels, it’s that it makes it a little easier to look Tahani in the eye, _a little_ being the key words; even with the extra boost the shoes give her, Eleanor still has to tilt her head back in order to make true eye contact, mainly because Tahani is wearing four inch heels of her own. She moves painlessly in them, each step utterly sure and perfectly placed. She blends in effortlessly, looks totally at home in the crowded ballroom, knows exactly how to flick her fingers in order to get a passing server’s attention, knows how to weave between clumps of people without disturbing a single one. She’s fallen perfectly back into the life she used to live, before Michael plucked her out of it for his network. 

Deep down in her chest, in the rotten part of her heart that she will never be able to carve out, Eleanor is a little resentful. Mainly though, she’s just jealous. She busted her ass for _weeks_ preparing for this mission, doing all the research she could, so that she wouldn’t blow it, and she _still_ doesn’t feel ready, even though they’re already in the thick of it.

But it’s too late now, and if there’s one thing she’s always been good at, it’s faking it until she makes it.

“What if he doesn’t show?” she asks, craning up on her toes, which causes a fresh spike of pain to shoot through her arches. 

“He’ll show,” Tahani answers, voice perfectly measured as she leads Eleanor into a tight spin. Eleanor simply lets herself be led; all the practice and research in the world wouldn’t make her a good dancer so, while she’d never admit that to Tahani, it’s easier to let her be in charge.

“But,” Eleanor rebuts, tightening her arm around Tahani’s waist, “consider this: what if he _doesn’t_?” After a moment, an unwelcome realization hits her, and she wrinkles her nose. “Oh God. I sound like Chidi, don’t I?”

“Perhaps a little,” Tahani says. Her splayed palm is warm on the small of Eleanor’s back, and Eleanor focuses on it for a moment, just to distract herself from the ache in her feet.

“Well, I’m gonna have to nip that in the bud real fast, once we’re done here.” Tahani’s lips, which are painted a dark plum that Eleanor couldn’t pull off in a million years, quirk up into a tiny, all too genuine smile, one that’s solely for Eleanor and not a performance for the people surrounding them on all sides. While they may be on the job, Eleanor doesn’t think it’s going to totally fuck everything up if she takes a quick break so, as the string quartet set up in the corner of the cavernous ballroom brings their latest piece to a close, she leans up on her tiptoes and half-closes her eyes, expecting Tahani to meet her in the middle.

Instead, Tahani remains motionless, and after some of the most incredibly awkward seconds of her entire life, Eleanor fully cracks one eye open.

“Hey, babe?” she asks, squeezing Tahani’s hip slightly. “I’m waiting here. What’s the hold-up?”

“He’s here,” Tahani answers under her breath, plastering on a bright smile that doesn’t reach her kohl-lined eyes. “And he brought far more backup than we accounted for.” It takes every ounce of self-control Eleanor has to not whip her head around; doing that would practically be _begging_ for them to be made. Instead, she tightens her fingers on Tahani’s waist even further and strokes the silken fabric of her dress between her fingertips to ground herself.

She hopes that they’ll be able to do this without making too much of a mess, but she’s suddenly acutely aware of where every knife hidden on her person is, how they’re pressing roughly into her skin.

“Well, that’s peachy,” she says. She’s still on her tiptoes, and it seems a shame to waste the opportunity, so she continues, “A kiss for good luck then?”

Tahani arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at her, but Eleanor doesn’t back down, and eventually, Tahani shakes her head a little. Eleanor has come to learn that it’s a fond action.

“Fine. Not that we need the luck, of course, but fine.” She bends over to meet Eleanor in the middle, and when their lips meet, Eleanor allows their surroundings to melt away for a moment. She doesn’t think about the fact that literal years of planning are about to come to a head, doesn’t think about how every single person standing nearby is potential collateral damage. She simply savors the feeling of Tahani’s mouth against hers, the warmth of her body at the points where they’re pressed together.

When the strain of being on her toes becomes too much, she pulls away, thuds back to the ground and blinks her eyes open slowly. For a few seconds, she can see through Tahani’s veneer; her mouth is curved into a soft smile, and her thumb is slowly dragging back and forth across the small of Eleanor’s back.

But then the room suddenly fills with a painful burst of feedback as someone flicks on a microphone, and just like that, all signs of genuine emotion leave Tahani’s face.

“Are you ready, darling?” she murmurs quietly, dropping her arm from Eleanor’s waist and turning towards the front of the room, where the first of undoubtedly many speeches is about to begin.

“Always,” Eleanor answers, adding to the mile-long list of lies she’s told in her life. She takes a deep breath, squeezes Tahani’s hand tightly, and plasters on her best fake smile. “Let’s do this.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
